


No Rhyme or Reason

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Ableism, Alexithymia, Alternate Universe, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Bonding, Brotherly Affection, Brothers, Chaotic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Are Twins, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, How Do I Tag, Human, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Impulsiveness, Low/No Empathy, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Morally Neutral Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Morally Neutral Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Neurodiversity, Some Humor, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Talking, Therapy, in their own way, internalized ableism, it's discussed anyway, remus makes some comments but he learns from it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Remus finds it hard to care about anything. Which, as far as he knows, has always been the case, and he’s honestly not all that bothered by it. At least, not really.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	No Rhyme or Reason

Remus finds it hard to care about anything. Which, as far as he knows, has always been the case, and he’s honestly not all that bothered by it. At least, not _really_.

He’s not sure why; the others don’t seem to have any problems feeling, whether it be about other people or the environment or animals or what color they think the wallpaper of their apartment living room should be. If anything, the others care _too much_ —even Janus, who, though able to relate to his struggle at times, still relies too much on “fitting in” to be anywhere near Remus’ level of strife.

It’s annoying, bordering on suffocating at times.

And it’s not that he _can’t_ care, per se, or that he doesn’t feel _anything_ , _ever_ , because he can, and he does! He just doesn’t know _what_ he feels most of the time. Sure, he knows that he gets pissed enough to break his belongings and tear his pillow apart with his teeth, or that his anxiety can run so high at times that he’s practically catatonic, or that when things are going super well for him he feels like an actual _god_ , and sometimes he might even feel some fondness for the people closest to him every now and then—but he doesn’t know in the moment. Never in the moment.

And he can never identify it when he looks back, because he doesn’t really know what to look for to begin with, because everyone else’s emotions sound so different from his, vibrant and clear-cut and overwhelming, and all he has is boredom and pain and the occasional distraction to keep him from cutting his losses and crawling into a cave somewhere, never to be seen or heard from again.

(It’s annoying, bordering on lonely at times.)

And for the most part, he’d resigned himself to it, figuring he’d be stuck in a loop until the end of his days, no rhyme or reason to what goes on in his head or what he does with his body. Things just _happen_ —he just _does_. Because, well, why not?

Well—outside of having to deal with people’s annoying rants on exactly why _stealing is wrong, actually, and this other thing you do could really hurt and upset people, and we get you hate the government but you can’t seriously be okay with_ arson _, can you?_ and the possibility of jail (which considering he hasn’t seriously acted out since his teenage years, doesn’t really come to mind much nowadays, but even if it _did_ he just wouldn’t get caught, because he’s not _stupid_ )—Remus argues that there _isn’t_ much reason stopping him.

Well.

Alright.

There are about five reasons, all of which are vaguely human shaped. But even _that_ can be severed without remorse if he really wanted to. Hell, he _has_ , and they _know_ he has.

It’s just a matter of time before it happens again.

“Have you thought about seeing someone for all this?”

Remus looks up from his plate of alfredo to meet his brother’s eyes, the other spinning his noodles idly with his fork. He hesitates, taking a bite of his food and leaning back in his chair. “Nah,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “not really. I mean, it’s just normal for me, you know? Plus, people deal with that kinda shit all the time. It’s no big deal.”

Roman shakes his head, a quick roll of his eyes almost missed by the older twin. “I’d argue it’s a pretty big deal, given everything you just told me. You said it yourself, you can barely function sometimes because of it!”

“I manage fine,” Remus grumbles, huffing, scratching at his arm. He doesn’t look at Roman as he says it, because Roman’s gaze is intense and oddly _knowing_ , and Remus would prefer they just finish dinner and forget this conversation happened at all.

Roman doesn’t let it go, though—and hits him with a bit of information he doesn’t expect.

“You know I got diagnosed not too long ago, right?”

Remus perks up, eyebrows raised, “Yeah? Therapy finally work out for ya, did it?” _It’s about time_ , he adds on privately, _I was starting to think those bastards were nothing more than useless._

Roman nods, picking at his plate with his fork. “Yeah,” he starts, “I was. Granted, I went in for different problems, and I didn’t even realize that a lot of the things I was dealing with even counted as _symptoms_ , but—”

“The _point_ , Prince Whines-A-Lot.”

Roman glares at him, mouth pressed into a firm line. He pauses, rubbing a hand along the side of his neck. “…I—Rem, I’m a narcissist.”

Remus snorts, “Yeah, no _shit_ , Roman—”

“I mean I have _narcissistic personality disorder_ , you _ass_.”

Remus stares at him.

“And, uh, bipolar,” Roman adds, gesturing with a wave of his hand in a way that almost comes off as embarrassed, god _forbid_. “Comorbid.”

Remus blinks. He taps his fork against his plate, rocking back in his seat and looking up at the ceiling. He frowns.

“…So…there’s, like, a disorder just for being full of yourself, or—”

“That is _not_ what it means and you know it,” Roman hisses, expression bordering on murderous when Remus smirks. His eyelid twitches, the younger twin stabbing at his pasta. He forces a breath through his nose, smoothing his expression out until all of the agitation is covered up.

Because that’s the thing about being a twin—try as the other might, they still have tells, and growing up around those tells makes it easy to read them.

“It’s really not—it’s a lot _more_ than that, Remus. I don’t really know _how_ to put it into words, but—look, how would you feel if I just boiled all of your problems down to you being a violent prick?”

Remus bristles, opening his mouth to say something—but then he stops, because dammit, his brother does have a point. He _did_ drop the ball there, as much as he won’t admit it. “…So, what, are you saying _I’m_ a narcissist? This stuff is usually genetic, isn’t it?”

Roman shrugs. “Beats me. I’m not a professional, so it’s not like I can just tell you. I barely understand what’s going on with _me_ , and I’ve been in therapy for years!”

 _Despite wanting to drop out of it on several occasions_ , Remus thinks, but doesn’t say, biting his tongue to keep it from slipping out. He sighs. “I don’t—I don’t really get what you’re trying to say,” he settles on. “I’m—I’m fine. This is _fine_. I can handle it, I don’t—I don’t need some stupid doctor in a coat telling me what’s _wrong_ with me. That might work for you, but I’m not—I don’t need _fixing_ , Roman, holy _shit_.”

“I didn’t say that you needed to be _fixed_ ,” Roman balks, eyes blowing wide, “I’m just saying that there might be something there worth looking into. Seriously, Remus, do you really think I’d change you?”

Remus hesitates.

It’s more than enough to confirm his brother’s suspicions, a strangled, almost offended noise escaping the other man. Roman fixes him with a serious look, leaning forward in his chair with the kind of practiced flair Remus briefly wonders if Janus has been giving his brother lessons behind his back.

“I know I’m not great at showing it,” Roman tells him, “and I can’t say that I know how to help, but dammit, Remus, I _do_ care about you, as hard as that is for me. I care about you because you’re _you_ , and yeah, sure, I would _like_ for you to not annoy me constantly and leave traps in my room when I’m not at the apartment—”

“It was funny,” Remus informs him, grinning, earning only an eyeroll in response.

“—but I wouldn’t change that. If anything, I’d just get bored.” Roman scrunches up his nose. “Ew. I’m being vulnerable—don’t tell the others, they can’t know I feel things. It’ll ruin my princely status.”

Remus snickers, “Oh, shut _up_ ,” but the words click into place, and he stops, the smile slowly slipping from his face. Drumming his fingers on the table, gaze fixed on his (probably cold) food, he says, voice strangled, “Are you sure it’ll help? All of your experiences with therapists have sounded like hell, newest one being an exception.”

“It’s not supposed to be _enjoyable_. It can be, sometimes, but usually it’s just uncomfortable.” Roman shrugs then, adding, “But that’s kind of the point of it. Growth doesn’t come when you’re comfortable. And, for all his nerdy bullshit, Logan _does_ have a point about how therapy gives you tools to deal with things. I’m better equipped to handle crashes and irritation now than I was four years ago.”

“That’s nice, Ro, but I’m not interested if it’s going to hurt. I deal with that enough on my own.”

Roman nods. “That’s fine. You don’t have to. And I’m not going to sugarcoat it, it’s hard. Ridiculously hard, sometimes.” Roman rubs the back of his neck. “And it doesn’t _fix_ what’s wrong with you, but—you get to take back _some_ control, and that’s worth something, right? Plus, it’s better than thinking you’re destined for nothing but gloom-and-doom, so…it’s worth at least trying.” He grins. “At least if you asked me, and we all know I’m always right about these things, so it has to be true.”

Remus snorts, shaking his head. Still, try as he might to push it out from his mind, he can’t help but find it…well, not _ideal_ , but at least intriguing. It’d almost be like a game, to see what it’s really like, to see what he could say and do, to see the effects of it all. At the very least, the thought of being able to label it sounds appealing, in its own way.

And hey, what the hell, right? Why not?

“Alright,” he mutters, “alright. I’ll think about it. Just—don’t let it get to your head, alright? You’re not the only one with a reputation.”

Roman grins, “My lips are sealed.”

They go back to their dinner, lapsing into silence for the moment.

Then, a thoughtful look on his face, Remus says, “Why didn’t you ever tell me until now? About you being diagnosed.”

Roman doesn’t look up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going through until it got to be too much to handle?”

Yeah. Alright.

Fair enough.


End file.
